“Nothing except to confirm what Howard told you, your Honor. He is a changed man,” the priest said.
Hogan looked at Marc and McReady and asked, “Gentlemen, anything else?”
“No, your Honor,” they said in turn.
“All right,” Judge Hogan began, “the Petitioner’s conviction for second degree-murder and manslaughter are hereby overturned and will be expunged from his record. All other convictions will stand. Petitioner will be credited for time served on those convictions and I order his immediate release. Mr. Traynor, you’re free to go and sin no more…”
With that, Hogan dropped her gavel down once and left the bench. While the subdued crowd was leaving Marc noticed his friend, Tony Carvelli looking at him from the gallery. Tony held his hand up by his ear in the universal symbol of a phone then joined the crowd squeezing through the exit.
Marc congratulated Howie, then the deputy escorted Howie and the priest out the back to process Howie’s release.
“Do you believe him?” Marc heard Steve Gondeck’s voice behind him.
Marc turned, shook hands with his friendly adversary and said, “Don’t be so cynical. It happens. He might’ve turned his life around.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Gondeck replied. “But usually not until they are about to throw the switch on Old Sparky.”
TEN
Marc went out the courtroom’s exit door and ran headfirst into a wall of reporters. Since the story first broke, the media was all over it. Marc managed to make his way through the small crowd leaving Chuck McReady to get a little publicity. He turned left when he reached the elevators and almost ran into Gabriella Shriqui. She was waiting with her cameraman, Kyle Bronson, to get Marc alone.
“Hey, Gabriella, how’s my favorite TV person? That’s not much of a compliment, by the way,” Marc added.
“Hi, Marc,” she replied ignoring the mild insult. “Do you have a minute for me?” she asked intentionally personalizing the request. Gabriella was stop traffic gorgeous. The product of Moroccan Christian parents who immigrated to America when her mother was pregnant with her older brother. Gabriella had silky black hair six inches below her shoulders, light caramel colored skin that looked like a perpetual tan and dark, almost black, slightly almond shaped eyes. She was also quite adept at using her looks to help her get a story, especially with the males of the species.
Marc had first met her while he defended a corrupt judge accused of murdering his wife. Despite the fact that he was well aware of her game of using her sensuality, looking into her eyes once again caused him to cave in and talk to her.
Marc spent a few minutes answering her questions about Howie Traynor’s case. Mostly what he had to say amounted to little more than innocuous statements such as, “Justice has finally prevailed.”
When his elevator arrived, as he held the door open he said to her, “Seen Maddy lately?”
“Sure, we get together once in a while. She’s a good friend.”
“I should take her to lunch. Maybe both of you. If you talk to her, tell her to call me.”
“I will and thanks, Marc.”
Marc ascended to the seventeenth floor and quickly walked down the hallway to courtroom 1745. This was the courtroom of his much better half, Judge Margaret Tennant. They had made a date for lunch as they normally did whenever Marc was downtown.
When he reached her courtroom door, it banged open and Marc was almost knocked down by three angry insurance defense lawyers and one smiling plaintiff’s lawyer. Marc stepped aside to let them pass then went into the courtroom. Expecting to find Margaret still on the bench he was mildly surprised to see she was already gone. Still at her desk next to the bench and writing in a file was the judge’s clerk, Lois.
“Hi, Lois,” Marc said as he passed through the gate in the bar. “Is her Highness available?”
“Hey, Marc, let me check,” she said picking up her phone. A couple of seconds later Marc heard her say, “There’s a smartass man out here who wants to know, and I quote, if her Highness is available.”
Lois listened for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. I’ll find out,” she covered the mouthpiece with her hand and said to Marc, “She wants to know if the smartass man has a cute butt. Turn around and let me take a look.”
Marc’s shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes, shook his head and with a half-smile, half-laugh said, “I am not going to turn around and let you take a look.”
Lois said into the phone, “He won’t cooperate.” She listened, for a moment then said, “Uh huh, yeah, I’ll tell him,” and then looked back at Marc.
“She told me to tell you that you’d better have a cute butt or she’ll throw your non-cute butt in jail for contempt.”
“Tell her if she’s not careful it could be a while before I let her get another look at my cute butt,” Marc said doing his best not to laugh.
Lois repeated this, barely containing her own laughter. She listened for a moment, hung up the phone and said, “She says she’s really sorry, she doesn’t want you to withhold butt viewing privileges and you’re to go right back.”
While Lois laughed, Marc thanked her and went through the door to the judge’s chambers. As he walked passed her desk, Lois couldn’t resist saying, “You do have a pretty cute butt.”
“And they talk about us…” Marc muttered as he entered the back hallway.
The waitress finished taking their order, a salad for Margaret and a cheeseburger and fries for Marc, then left to place the order. They were in a booth in a restaurant named Peterson’s across Fourth Avenue from the government center. Margaret caught Marc watching the teenage girl walk away.
“A little young, don’t you think?” she said.
“I was just thinking that,” Marc smiled. “How young they’re getting to be.”
“They’re not getting younger,” Margaret started to say.
“I know you don’t need to remind me.”
“Well, tell me about the hearing. How did it go?” she asked.
“Interesting,” Marc said after thinking it over for a moment. Marc spent the next ten minutes briefly describing the arguments made and the judge’s decision.
“So she kicked him loose, huh? I’m not surprised. I probably would have also. Even with the other evidence the tainted DNA test makes the murder conviction impossible to uphold.”
“She let stand the convictions for everything else. The B & E, the burglary, assault on a cop, resisting arrest, all of it. Even without the DNA there’s enough to uphold those convictions. She let him off with time served.
“Let me tell you about Howie Traynor. Remember how scary I told you he was? The attitude and dead eyes?”
“Yeah,” she answered as the waitress returned with their meals.
When the pretty blonde left, Marc continued. “It seems Howie found Jesus in prison. He even had a priest there on his behalf. He sat at the table with us. Howie greeted me like we were old friends.”
“It happens,” Margaret said pausing with a forkful of salad on its way to her mouth.
Marc had wolfed down his burger and was now working on the fries. He paused between bites and said, “Yeah, but it’s usually right before they throw the switch on Old Sparky. He seems genuine but…”
“What?” she asked.
“You didn’t know him back when. Did I tell you Tony was one of the arresting officers?”
“No, really?”
“Yeah I didn’t know him then. I talked to him a couple days ago and he was in court this morning, probably checking on things for Vivian Donahue.”
“Why would Vivian Donahue care about this case?”
“The victim was her aunt,” Marc replied.
“Really? Small world,” Margaret said.
“Anyway, Tony remembered Howie and said he even scared the shit out of the cops who had to deal with him. He said when they went to arrest him one of the guys hit him in the chest with a Taser and Howie jerked the Taser leads out, threw them at the cop then b
usted the guy’s jaw with one punch. It took four cops to put him down.”
“Do you think he’ll sue for wrongful imprisonment?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t know. What do you think? You think he has a case? What are his damages? The time he served could easily be for the other convictions.”
“He could probably get something. The City of Minneapolis and Hennepin County would write him a big check just for the asking. You know what they’re like,” Margaret said.
“I’m a little worried about him suing me or filing a complaint with the Office of Professional Responsibility for my representation,” Marc said.
“Why?”
“For not having the DNA sample independently tested.”
“Did the technician who rigged the tests say that he ran the tests and they all came back negative and he doctored the results?” Margaret asked.
“No,” Marc said after he thought for a moment. “In fact, he said he never tested the material at all. Just phonied up the results and if anyone asked to get the sample for an independent test he claimed there wasn’t enough left or it had been destroyed. He covered it up.”
“So, even if you had requested a test, who’s to say it would have been done. Why didn’t you?”
“It was a public defender appointment. Mickey O’Herlihy, my boss at the time, got it. He loved these long shot cases. I was going to second chair the case and then Mickey has a heart attack screwing a hooker client. I asked to be allowed to withdraw and the judge, Ross Peterson, refused. Then when I asked for funds to do an independent DNA test, he turned me down. He said it was a waste of the taxpayer’s money. I didn’t have the money to pay for it myself, so...”
“What did the court of appeals have to say?”
“They ruled two to one, that it was not judicial error to turn me down. The dissent wrote I should have paid for it myself under the doctrine of zealous representation.”
“That’s a crock,” Margaret said as she handed her empty salad bowl to the waitress. “No one says a lawyer has an obligation to bankrupt himself.”
Marc’s phone went off, he pulled it from his coat pocket, looked at the ID and answered it.
“Hey, paisan, we were just talking about you.”
Marc listened for a moment then said, “I’m with Margaret at Peterson’s, the place across Fourth from the government center,” he said in answer to the caller’s question.
“Tony says hello,” Marc said to Margaret. “What?” he said into the phone. “Sorry”, he said to Margaret. “Tony says hello, beautiful.” He went back to the phone and said, “Sucking up to her won’t help. The next time you get arrested there’s no guarantee she’ll be your judge.”
Margaret reached across the table, pulled Marc’s hand that was holding the phone toward herself then loudly said, “Yes, I will. I’ll see to it.”
Marc listened again then said to Margaret, “He says you should dump me.”
Margaret took the phone from him, then speaking into it said, “I would but he’s got such a cute butt. I can’t let it go,” and started laughing.
Marc took the phone back, shook his head and said to Carvelli, “So, what’s up?”
He listened for a moment then said, “No, she has to go back to work but I can stay for a while.”
He listened again then said, “Okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
ELEVEN
Ten minutes later, Carvelli entered the restaurant through the skyway entrance. Marc saw him first and waved him over to their booth. Walking through the restaurant, he looked to be half cop, half Italian Wiseguy. He was just under six feet, broad shoulders and in his early fifties. He still had a full head of mostly black hair and wore his standard, thin, brown leather jacket and white silk shirt, two buttons undone.
When he reached the table, Margaret slid out and said, “I have to go. I’ll let you two boys talk,” and offered her cheek for Tony to kiss.
Carvelli gestured to their waitress to bring him a cup of coffee. He then slid onto the bench seat opposite Marc and placed a manila envelope he was carrying onto the table.
After the waitress delivered Tony’s coffee, Marc asked, “What’s this?” referring to the contents of the envelope.
While pouring some cream into his coffee, Tony said “For starters, our boy Howie’s prison record.”
“How did you get that so quickly?” Marc asked as he removed the documents from the envelope. “I thought I’d have to get Madeline to use her charms on somebody to get this.” He leafed through the papers and said, “What’s it say?”
“He was a pretty bad boy the first two years or so. They suspected him of several assaults. My cop pals talked to a couple of ex-cons who knew him and did time with him. They claim he got his ass kicked by gang bangers a couple of times. Then one-by-one, he caught up with the guys who did it. He put several of them in the hospital. After a while even the badasses left him alone.
“About that time he started acting as an enforcer for a white Aryan gang suspected of smuggling drugs in. Two or three years ago he started getting counseling from that priest, what’s-his-name?”
“Brinkley?”
“Yeah, that’s him. According to his psyche evaluation, the prison officials were a little skeptical at first. But now they think he may have found Jesus and straightened out.”
“Interesting,” Marc said. “What do you think?”
“I’ve been around a while and I know I’m a bit cynical…” Tony began.
“Cops and lawyers,” Marc interjected.
“Right,” Tony agreed. “It will take more than a report from a priest and a shrink to convince me. It’s not like they can’t be fooled.
“This guy Traynor was a first-class psycho asshole back in the day. He killed Vivian’s aunt that night and we believe he did at least two others and probably a third one in prison. There are reports in there,” Tony continued tapping the documents on the table in front of Marc, “about the other five guys whose DNA tests were faked. Three of them are out or getting out and the other two are dead. Both died in prison. One died from cancer and the other one from an accident. At least that was the official finding. The corrections officers and my pals with the MPD I talked to suspect it was Traynor’s Aryan buddies and likely Traynor himself who caused the guy to ‘accidentally’ fall from the top tier and break his neck and crush his skull.”
“What about the other three?” Marc asked.
From memory, Tony told Marc who the other three were. The first was a now thirty-six-year-old, Hispanic-American, Angelo Suarez, convicted in Ramsey County of rape. He was suspected of at least six others and many more. Originally from the Dallas area, he had moved several times throughout the Midwest leaving a trail of unsolved sexual assaults in his wake. Considered extremely intelligent he had left no DNA at the others before the one he was convicted of in St. Paul. He was released several days ago.
“Great,” Marc said. “We’ve got a serial rapist on the loose.”
The second was a thirty-nine-year-old member of a biker gang by the name of Eugene Parlow, convicted of second degree murder and drug dealing. He was also suspected of being in the Aryan prison gang with Traynor.
“Wait a minute,” Marc said. “The prison authorities believe Howie was in an Aryan prison gang then quit when he found Jesus? Do these gangs allow something like that?”
“I wondered if you would catch that,” Tony said with a sly smile. “Good question. The answer is normally, no. Once you’re in, you’re in for good. That’s a question the cops will be asking this douche bag Parlow once they catch up with him.”
“The cops have already lost track of him?”
“He’s around. They’ll find him but until he does something he’s not a high priority. All of these guys need to have an eye kept on them but they can’t be harassed either.
“The last one is a man named Aaron Forsberg, now age forty-seven. He was convicted in Hennepin County of murdering his wife. He always insisted he
was innocent. He was a very well off investment banker.”
“I remember that case,” Marc said. “Rumor was his defense cost a couple million bucks. He had a team of lawyers headed up by Julian Segal, now Judge Segal over in Ramsey County.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Tony said snapping his fingers. “I knew I heard that name before.”
“It was really high profile and all over the news for months,” Marc said. “Why wouldn’t Segal do a second DNA test?” Marc wondered.
“In the report,” Tony said referring again to documents in front of Marc, “the test material was not enough to do a second test and the judge let it in anyway.”
“Who was the judge?” Marc rhetorically asked as he leafed through the papers to find the one he wanted. “Ross Peterson,” he quietly said when he found it. “The same judge I had with Howie and he ruled the same way. Interesting.” He looked at Tony and said, “I’ll read these over when I get home tonight. How did Vivian take the news about Howie getting kicked loose?” Marc asked.
“She wasn’t pleased,” Tony said. “More disappointed than angry.”
Tony slid out of the booth as did Marc and handed Marc his check for the coffee. He took two dollars from his pocket and dropped them on the table.
“I’ll talk to you later. I’m working today. See ya,” Tony said.
TWELVE
Carvelli was walking through the skyway over Sixth Street back to the ramp where he parked his car when his phone went off. He removed it from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and checked the screen. The call was coming from a phone at the Minneapolis Police Department. Hopefully it was the call he was expecting.
“Carvelli,” he said as he stepped to the window of the skyway and looked east up Sixth.
“It’s Owen, Tony,” he heard a man say. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Owen, thanks for calling back. You in the office?”
Certain Justice Page 6
